


This Is Very Normal

by zamwessell



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Darth Vader fetish, Established Relationship, Feelings, Fluff, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Roleplay, Spanking, i need jesus, take me away garbage boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 17:10:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5833732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zamwessell/pseuds/zamwessell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kylo Ren has an actual Darth Vader fetish. Hux indulges him. Judgily. As only Hux can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Is Very Normal

**Author's Note:**

> "like we're trying to do bizarre darth vader roleplay" i wrote once, as a joke  
> not realizing where this would inevitably lead  
> i'm supposed to be writing a respectable high school au  
> where did i go so wrong

“This is not normal,” Hux says. “I just want to establish for the record – and there will be no record of this, by the way; I am erasing the data tapes, don’t get any funny ideas –”

“But—” Kylo starts.

“Shh,” Hux says. “You are lucky that this is happening at all, you do realize this?”

“Yes,” Kylo says, meekly.

What have I gotten myself into, Hux thinks. For fuck’s sake. Yes, he thinks, _precisely_. You’ve done weirder things. No, he thinks, I haven’t. This – I may have hit my wall, here. This is my wall. It was long enough in coming and it was a good deal farther than I expected and several parsecs past things with tentacles and highly, highly non-standard use of certain pieces of First Order equipment but – nope, this is it, this is the wall. It is large and it is shaped like Darth Vader. Can a wall be shaped like Darth Vader? Shut up, you know what I mean.

 “You’re arguing with yourself,” Kylo says. He looks oddly charmed.

“Well,” Hux says, “you should know.” It isn’t a very good comeback and he instantly regrets it. He turns his back to Kylo and frowns at the table on which is laid out the – costume? ensemble? outfit? – for this thing he is about to do. He is almost afraid to look too closely at it, like it’s an eclipse or a black hole into which he is about to vanish— 

“It’s not as bad as you’re making it out,” Kylo says.

Hux sighs heavily. He runs his hands through his hair. It’s a little disarrayed but that will hardly matter in a minute.

“Where did you even get this?” he asks.

Kylo shrugs in the least convincingly non-committal gesture he has ever seen. “People make them,” he says.

“ ‘People make them,’” Hux mimics. “Ren, if this is a one-of-a-kind heirloom that you sewed and welded yourself you had better tell me now.”

“It’s not,” Kylo says. He sounds a little amused. “People make them. He was a figure of galactic significance.”

“And your grandfather,” Hux points out.

“Can we not focus on that aspect of it,” Kylo asks.

“Yes,” Hux says, instantly relieved. “I fully concur in that.” He runs his hands through his hair again. “Ren I hope you appreciate what I am doing on your behalf.”

“I’m touched,” Kylo says. He actually sounds touched, damn him. Fuck him. Hux wishes they could go back to that. That was at least – unexpectedly – pleasant. Extremely pleasant. Extremely fucking stupidly pleasant, good enough to make him, in the heat of the moment, say yes to things like – this absurd charade.

He decides to start by putting on the gloves. That’s fine, he thinks to himself. You wear gloves normally. This is fine. Fine. We’re all fine. Great. Gloves. Terrific. He feels Kylo watching him.

“Does it – does it ruin the effect if you see me putting it on?” he asks. 

“No,” Kylo says. “It’s actually. It’s.” Kylo swallows.

“Oh, fuck me,” Hux mutters under his breath. “This – seriously – this turns you on?” He flexes his hand in the glove and Kylo makes a tiny noise at the back of his throat. Well, he thinks. Fuck. You weren’t kidding. Then: This may be more enjoyable than anticipated. Then: Better put the pants on while you still can without a -- certain obvious difficulty. 

He takes off his own boots and jodhpurs and pulls the pants on. They’re leather, of course. This whole outfit, now that he has an opportunity to study it up close, makes him seriously wonder about Darth Vader. He thinks originally it was one piece, given how many limbs Vader was working with. Now it’s in two parts. The pants would be tight if he were a bigger man but he’s able to get them on with relative ease. While he’s at it he pulls the top on. Also leather, at least the sleeves. He wonders how Grand Moff Tarkin managed to keep such an even keel having to deal with this monstrosity on a daily basis. Then he tugs on the boots. He glances over at Kylo and – shit. 

Kylo’s mouth has dropped open and he looks gobsmacked. Also beautiful, Hux thinks, trying to file the thought surreptitiously at the back of his mind. 

“Are you all right?” Hux asks.

“Yes,” Kylo says, but his voice already sounds a little strained. Well, Hux thinks.

He puts the breastplate on next, then the shoulder guards, then the collar. Then he clips on the belt and – whatever that thing is, codpiece, crotch guard? it probably has a name; he is sure Kylo knows exactly what the name is – then the cape.

 “Fuck,” Kylo says, audibly. He sounds amazed. No, more than that. He sounds seriously turned-on. Hux knows how his voice gets; has had ample opportunity to study it. “That – seriously – you look – Hux – you seriously—”

“This is seriously not normal,” Hux says, for probably the fifth or sixth time.

“That is the seventh time you’ve said that in the last half hour,” Kylo says, his voice wavering a little. His eyes don’t move. Hux has never been looked at so hungrily; he feels like Kylo is trying to memorize him. It’s intense but not unpleasant. In fact he likes being looked at like that, like he's the sexiest thing in the universe and there's no point looking anywhere else. “If you’re going to be like that the whole time –” Kylo starts. 

Hux meets his eyes, almost smiles. “I’m not,” he says.

This next part is going to be the hardest part, he thinks. The helmet. He looks over at it and then he watches Kylo actually palm at himself through the fabric of his clothes.

“I didn’t say you could touch yourself,” he snaps, reflexively. “Stop.”

Kylo stops, looks at him, looks away. He looks a little giddy. “Are you going to –” he says, gesturing, “I mean, order me around, I mean, you don’t have, only it seemed like, only, if you want.”

Hux pinches the bridge of his nose, exhales slowly. Fuck. This is getting to him faster than anticipated and this is not the world’s most comfortable suit for that purpose. There are suddenly a hundred things he wants to do to Kylo when he is like this, pliable and tongue-tied and practically panting for it. He wonders, idly, if Kylo would lick these ridiculous boots. Kylo’s eyes light up and he wonders if he heard the thought. “Am I – I’m him, I’m assuming.”

Kylo nods.

“You have to tell me to stop if it gets too much,” he says.

“It won’t,” Kylo says, a little too quickly. Fuck, Hux thinks again. His brain is rapidly supplying ways to use this and they are growing more and more obscene and detailed with each passing moment.

“You need a word,” Hux says. “Before I put it on. One that wouldn’t – naturally come up.”

“Tatooine,” Kylo says.

Hux swallows. “All right,” he says. “Here goes nothing.”

He puts on the helmet. The view from it makes everything look red. It’s like a targeting computer. Somehow this is not what he was expecting.

“Fuuuck,” Kylo says.

 “This is not normal,” says a low, deep voice. A voice changer, Hux thinks. You could have warned me. Guess I should have assumed. Okay. Well. It’s good that he feels comfortable sharing his kinks with you, I suppose. You’ve progressed to a level.

He can feel Kylo watching him.

“Get,” he says, a little unsteadily, but the voice-changer covers it, “on your knees.”

 “Yes, Master,” Kylo says, and does. _Fucking God._ Hux thinks, I swear to fucking God the only thing more embarrassing than this whole experience would be if you come immediately right in this absurd black athletic cup-thing the second it begins. Stop thinking. And here you thought this was going to be silly, he thinks. As if the sight of Kylo on his knees calling you that could be _silly_.

“Closer,” he says.

Kylo moves closer, walking over on his knees. 

“Impressive,” he says. A little shudder passes through Kylo’s whole body, and _fuck._ “Most impressive.” He reaches down and catches a fistful of Kylo’s hair, tilts his head up. Kylo’s pupils are blown wide; that much he can see. His eyes are even darker than usual. 

Hux suddenly wishes he had the Force; the things he would do with it now. He would choke Kylo until he gasped and pin him down and invade him, touch him everywhere, all over his beautiful tall frame but even more inside his mind, find out what lurks in there, what other bizarre fetishes or -- rifle through all of it, leave his fingerprints everywhere. Kylo blinks up at him, like he wants to ask about this. He traces a gloved thumb down Kylo’s cheek and presses it against his lips, he hopes it reads as telling Kylo to hush but he can’t disguise how fond he is of Kylo’s mouth. (Rationally fond, his mind supplies, offering half a dozen ready instances of Kylo’s mouth on him.) He draws the thumb over Kylo’s lips and Kylo opens his mouth, sucks on it. It's weirdly obscene. It does more to him than he anticipated.

“What is thy bidding?” Kylo asks, rubbing his face against the glove, like he wants my scent on him, Hux thinks. It’s weird and intense like everything else Kylo does and chooses to be. Sometimes Hux wonders if he was raised by wookiees.

Okay, Hux thinks. What do I. What would he. You have to start talking. “This ship,” he says. “The consoles. I am most displeased with your apparent lack of progress.”

“I’m sorry,” Kylo says.

“Sorry?” Hux asks, because this he can at least handle. It sounds more impressive through the voice changer. “You’re sorry?”

“I will do whatever you ask,” Kylo says, “master.”

 Fucking hell, Hux thinks, has his voice always been this obscene or is there something the matter with the acoustics in this helmet? Did Darth Vader walk around the Executor perpetually aroused? The thought of Darth Vader being aroused by anything Admiral Piett said is actually quite effective at counteracting the tendency of the rest of his thoughts and he focuses on it for a moment.

Kylo gives him an odd look.

“Perhaps you ought to demonstrate that you still possess any degree of control,” Hux suggests. It sounds more like something he would say, himself, than something Darth Vader would say, but, damn it, in his defense, he never expected anything like this to happen. He glances around the room for things that need Force-levitating. There’s the table and his jodhpurs and his boots and a bench and the bed and the bedside table and – it all seems too easy but he supposes beggars cannot be choosers—“Lift those things,” he says. “Show me your abilities.” 

They come off the ground in maybe a second flat and while Hux is impressed he makes himself fold his arms. “So,” he says, “he taught you well enough.”

Everything wobbles. Okay, Hux thinks. Not that way. No more mentions of teachers. Got it. Good. Okay.

“But this is child’s play,” he says. “Keep them there. While—” he fans through an array of things he can ask Kylo to do, picturing him licking the boots clean or undoing the belt and taking him in his mouth or – experimentally he imagines Kylo fully naked and bent over for him, bringing his gloved hand down on the ample solid flesh of Kylo’s backside – _that,_ he hears, _Hux please_. Why did I suspect you’d be listening, Hux thinks, and then, why didn’t you tell me how much you were amenable to, have you always wanted me to, and Kylo says, “Yes,” out loud, and he can feel how dry Kylo’s mouth is, of all the things for Kylo to be projecting.

“Stand up. Strip. Keep everything up.”

“That shouldn’t be difficult, sir” Kylo says, and he should do something to him for being so suggestive. Kylo pulls the robe over his head; Hux studies him approvingly as his torso and arms and those alarmingly muscular thighs are laid bare. Even in this reddish tint they do something to him. “Everything, master?”

“Everything,” Hux says. A new part of his brain is saying Fuck Fuck Fuck in increasing alarm as he watches Kylo strip because he has felt possessive before and knows that feeling but this feels different, this feels almost like fondness, and that is weakness. Your possessions are supposed to be the things you can break first. There are things he wants to do to Kylo that are deceptively close to breaking him but he knows the difference and – more importantly he wants no one else to come anywhere near to breaking Kylo, and fuck, he thinks. Think about this afterwards. Afterwards? when he’s curled up against you in your bed? his mind asks dismissively, or in the morning when he’s sprawled out over the whole comforter and you’re up getting ready sneaking glances at him in the mirror? Well at any rate not now, Hux thinks. There are more pressing things to think now. “Impressive,” he says, again. It sounds silly. 

Kylo takes a step closer, looks up at him. I don’t usually have a height advantage on you, he thinks. It must be the boots, and that you’re barefoot. He grins, glad the mask hides it. I like having one.

“Now get on all fours,” he says, and Kylo obliges, so quickly he wonders if he bruised his knees. “You know why this is happening.”

 “Yes,” Kylo says. He omits the “master,” glances behind him, knowingly. Hux rolls his eyes. All right.

“Yes, what?” Hux asks. 

“Yes, m—” Hux brings his hand down, hard, on the right side. Kylo yelps. It’s the _fucking sexiest_ sound Hux has ever heard. You don’t even usually get off on this sort of thing, Hux thinks, you administer enough discipline in the course of the work day without adding it to your extracurriculars, but – that _sound_. He brings the hand down again and – Kylo makes another fucking sound. This is impossible, he thinks. I’m going to have to do this every day and I didn’t even know.

“I wish there were a mirror,” Kylo gasps, unexpectedly. Hux brings his hand down again, other side this time.

“Why?” he answers. “So you can see exactly what you’ve become? Do you want me to tell you?”

“Tell me,” Kylo says. Hux brings his hand down three times in rapid succession and Kylo’s whole body writhes into the contact, he muffles a noise into his arm.

“Don't do that,” Hux says. 

“Do what?” Kylo turns his head to look back at him, half-curious, and Hux shakes his head – helmet, he supposes.

“I want to hear you,” he says. “You’re on all fours in front of Darth Vader being spanked like a disobedient child, is that what you wanted me to tell you?”

Kylo makes a beautiful whimpering sound and Hux brings his hand down again. The flesh is reddening under his blows and he rubs at it, soothingly. He wants – God – he wishes he could put his mouth -- but this helmet is in the way. “So good,” he murmurs. Kylo is hard, it looks uncomfortable, but he’s still not touching himself. “Would you like me to touch you?”

Kylo nods.

“Then say so.”

“Please,” Kylo says. Hux waits for the title but it’s not forthcoming. Well. He brings his hand down once more and Kylo chokes out a cry. Fucking hell, he thinks.

“Please, master,” Kylo amends, shakily.

Hux gets to his knees behind him – not because your legs were getting unsteady, he thinks, unconvincingly – he wraps his gloved hand around him and Kylo starts, like he forgot this was part of the deal, like that detail of it is what tips him over the edge, and he emits a shaky drawn-out breath and spends, helplessly, all over Hux’s fist. “All too easy,” Hux murmurs, and Kylo actually whimpers. Fuck. Hux thinks. Fuck, well, I’m done for, I’m going to have to familiarize myself with everything Darth Vader ever said, I don’t even fucking care. It’s suddenly hard to breathe in the helmet and he thinks as loudly as he can, can I take it off now, is it all right, and Kylo nods.

He takes it off. He’s panting; his face is sweaty; his hair is a mess; Kylo takes one look at him and they’re kissing like their lives depend on it, Kylo half-collapses into his lap, which only exacerbates an increasing problem.

“So good,” Kylo murmurs, against his mouth, like he doesn’t want to get any further away, “you were so good -- that was – that was the most—”

“I know,” he says. “Shut up.” He attacks Kylo’s mouth again, he tears the sticky mess of the gloves off so he can get his fingers in Kylo’s hair; it’s damp with sweat; he doesn't quite know why it is so imperative he touch it but it is. He licks Kylo’s neck. He starts undoing the belt but his hands are shaking. Kylo does it for him, waves his fingers, he suddenly realizes the bed and chairs and tables are still hovering in the air and the realization makes him laugh.

“Bring those back,” he says. “I want to fuck you on a bed.”

Everything lands on the floor with an astounding grace.

“Will you ever be this self-possessed again?” Hux asks, a little ruefully, undoing the pants.

 “No,” Kylo says. They’re bolder with each other now, it feels as though they’ve completed some sort of journey together, like this thing between them won’t snap if it’s handled too roughly. Hux is not sure whether this thought is comforting or not.

“On the bed,” Hux says.

Kylo climbs on, in the same position; Hux kneels behind him, rubs his hands approvingly over his handiwork. “That’ll sting tomorrow,” he says.

“It stings now.” Kylo rummages in the drawer for the lubricant, holds it out. Hux shakes his head.

“Not yet.”

“I thought you were desperate.”

“Some of us possess a modicum of patience,” Hux breathes, plastering himself over Kylo’s back and kissing the side of his neck, and then he starts kissing his way down Kylo’s spine. Midway through it occurs to him that he is still very much wearing a cape and he muffles laughter in the middle of Kylo’s back. He can feel Kylo reaching in to see what made him laugh and then Kylo laughs too, quietly, into the sheets. He doesn’t remember them laughing. It feels dangerous. He reaches the base of Kylo’s spine and motions for Kylo to part his legs, and then he has Kylo bucking and shuddering against his mouth. There’s a faint coppery taste he always associates with this part of Kylo’s anatomy; it’s obscene; he’s always liked doing it. Kylo shivers underneath him and muffles a noise into the sheets and he thinks, _no fair, come on, let me hear you_ , and darts out his tongue again against the pulsing ring of muscle there, fucks him with his mouth until Kylo is making sounds that he can hear. I couldn’t do this with the helmet, he thinks, _but you wanted to_? he hears. Yes, he thinks, I always want to.

He pulls back and wipes his mouth with the back of a hand and Kylo has collapsed into a sprawl on the bed beneath him. He tears off the pants, kicks off the boots. Kylo looks utterly debauched. He reaches for the lubricant and coats his fingers, resumes the work his mouth started; Kylo is fucking loud now, he finds the right spot (practice makes perfect, he hears, dull echo from those academy years, but even that can’t quite spoil the moment) and he is glad he got him to put the furniture down when he did because now things are spontaneously bending and flying around the room and he thinks the door may have hotwired itself shut and honestly he could not care less, he spills lubricant on the sheets in his haste but manages to get enough on his cock and then – “Can I?”

“For fuck’s sake,” Kylo gasps, “Hux, please.”

Well, Hux thinks, sinking into him, and Kylo emits a muffled sob, he’s hopelessly overstimulated, it’s one of the sexiest things Hux has ever seen in his life, this is going to be a real short trip. For a second he just sits there with their bodies flush, sunk all the way in Kylo, feeling their heartbeats going like – womp rats—he can’t think of a proper analogy. “Fuck,” he says.

“Hux,” Kylo gasps, and now that’s all Kylo is saying, just his name, _it’s never sounded like that,_ he thinks. 

“You’re sure you don’t mean Darth Vader,” he pants, into Kylo’s neck.

“No,” Kylo murmurs, “I mean you.”

Kylo twists his head back to kiss him and – fuck, well, he was at least correct in his assessment. He spends, helplessly; it feels like the longest orgasm he’s ever had. Probably it is.

They lie there for what feels like hours; he can feel himself going soft; he’s going to stick to Kylo; it can’t be pleasant; Kylo is going to be sore and sticky and –

“Well,” he says.

“You were thinking something,” Kylo says, very carefully, “in the middle there.”

“You never ask to look,” Hux says.

“You worry you’re becoming too attached,” Kylo says.

What’s the danger in admitting it? “Yes,” Hux says.

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why? Attachments make you weak.”

“That’s jedi nonsense,” Kylo says. “I think – I think attachment can be a source of strength.”

“Your attachment to me is, you mean?”

“Yes,” Kylo says, in that self-serious way that makes him seem younger. “I would destroy planets for you.”

“Hmm,” Hux says. He pulls out, tugs them closer, pulls the cape over them both. He’d forgotten the cape which he supposes is testimony to – something. He doesn't want to put words to it yet. He kisses the inside of Kylo's wrist and doesn't ask himself why. “Which planets?”


End file.
